


Misplaced

by Jhals



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Bart Allen Centric, Set after Season 2, very detailed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:40:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23627071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jhals/pseuds/Jhals
Summary: No more Reach, mission successful.... right?Realization slapped Bart in the face, his perfect facade of a chipper-speedster-tourist tearing at its seams. He hadn't allowed himself to think that far ahead. He hadn't allowed false hope to motivate him, but now they had won, yet at what cost? He was stranded in the past with the trauma of a future no-one would ever come to understand. And despite the rule he set of no emotional attachments the consequences of his indirect involvement with Wally's death -something that wasn't meant to happen yet- hit him harder then he would ever admit.Nevertheless, he stood still; soaking it all in as he donned the signature red and yellow suit. He would became the replacement nobody wanted and he would do so wearing the smile he had rehearsed.(AU of Young Justice season 3. None of the characters or setting belong to me, they belong to their respected owners).
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	1. Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> \- Set in the aftermath of the Season 2 Young Justice Finale. 
> 
> \- Bart's past is elaborated on with some liberties taken with his past (some comic character elements added too).
> 
> \- Canon divergence.
> 
> \- Characters may be a little out of character.

"Damaged people are dangerous. They know how to make hell feel like home." 

\- Arshia

WATCHTOWER

July 13, 15:30 CST

"You know, I always wanted to get to know you better," started Bart as he stood in the Watch Tower's memorial garden. 

"I should have tried harder. I don't know why I didn't try harder. Now, I'll never get the chance." 

Staring at the holographic tribute to the original Kid Flash; Bart couldn't help but think how his hidden memorial was an insult to how many people he saved. No-one would know the sacrifice of Wally West, although that was to be expected —the league didn't want their heroes being viewed as anything less than immortal. The young speedster noticed a cruel irony in the way the fallen stood, his youthful glow and bright smile almost made it seem like the image was the real deal. He wasn't sure what motivated him to continually come back to the memorial. At first, he assumed it was something like guilt, in a way it was, his stay in the past didn't cause Wally's death but it did contribute to it. And his photographic memory wouldn't let him forget what should have been his date of death even if he wanted to. 

Then again it felt stronger than that, he was drawn to the grave in an almost supernatural way. He couldn't quite explain it. Sometimes he swore Wally was still alive; that there was a connection between them that only speedsters could sense. Ultimately, he just rode it off as denial. 

"So this is where you've been hiding?" Stated Jamie from behind the speedster, successfully startling Bart. In response he abruptly swung around, only to meet the smug yet borderline worried smile the hero gave his peer. He was wearing civvies like him; it was more comfortable even if they had arranged to train in close combat together. He didn't know if he would ever get used to spandex, and he couldn't begin to understand Superman's reasoning behind wearing underwear over the top. He envied Jamie's armor, although having a voice constantly in your head would be quite the drawback. 

For a second his lack of a grin threatened to spoil his act, but he was quick to recover. "Hiding? Hardly, you wouldn't be able to fine me if I was hiding."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that. All I would need to do is use a bag of chicken whizees as bait," Blue returned in the same jokingly manner, much to the relief of the other. Bart didn't initially respond, instead he looked forward and tilted his head towards the insufferably goofy semi-laugh of the hologram that seemed to taunt his own mock smile. Sometimes he hated Wally, and Barry for that matter, not because of who they were but because they set this invisible standard for how a speedster should behave. His act was built on it and it worked a little too well, no-one saw any danger from the cheery tourist. 

"Well, you've got me there," he replied, a little too distant as Jamie walked up beside him. 

"You don't look too good, hermano?" Retorted the other as he looked over to Bart who followed suit, meeting eye contact. In response he contorted his lips into an awkward toothy smile as he tried to brush off the concern. 

"What? I'm crash, totally crash. Well, not, like, completely crash but I'm not supermoded you know?" He paused, "I'm fine, Blue, I'm fine."

"Are you trying to convince me of that or yourself?" Pushed Blue Beetle, reluctant to be falsely moulded. He looked straight through the speedster's perfected fake smirk, still stubbornly focusing in on his eyes. Jamie didn't want the smile he made with his mouth, he wanted the smile he made with his eyes. The younger had to make a conscious effort not to wince under the frightening weight of the gaze, sure his friend was currently having a discussion about him with the scarab. Finally, Bart relented, letting his face fall, though he was careful to stop himself before the cold hard glower he was familiar with made its return. 

"It's nothing, just an off feeling," he settled on saying. His words beamed with a despondent reassurance, but Jamie wasn't compromising for such a vague answer. 

"Go on," prompted Jamie. Bart relented with a sigh. 

"It's just hard. Trying to live up to everyone's expectation. It's... I don't know. Sometimes, it feels like I'm trying to put on shoes that aren't my size." 

"I know what you mean," agreed Jamie. And he did, Bart knew as much from what he had said about his mentor, or lack thereof. Jamie looked back over to the memorial before he began what Bart guessed from his expression was going to be a pretty long rant. "I didn't really know Kid Flash, but I do know you. You're flashy, impulsive and sometimes a little selfish—

"This is a great pep talk," Bart sarcastically interrupted, an effort to shut down the speech before they came any closer to a deep conversation. For someone who previously went by Impulse, he wasn't all too impulsive. Actually, a lot of planning went behind him coming to the past; even his spoilers were purposeful but then so was his flashiness and pretty much his entire personality. The future mannerisms included. So much for Blue knowing him. 

"But you're also a good friend—

"One of us has to be," he stated, jumping in again much to the exasperation of Jamie. It was another false misconception, he was only a good friend because that's what he needed to be to get close to the team. To earn their trust. When you're in survival mode your morals become whispers in an ocean of anxious screams; instinct takes root. Yet, he continuously choose to take a chance on Jamie that he couldn't understand. It was dangerous, he was leaving himself open to be hurt. 

Jamie didn't seem to appreciate the continuous interference, barking back, "Dios, puedes ser tan frustrante!" 

"What I'm trying to tell you is that you are your own hero, taking on Kid Flash's legacy doesn't change that," he concluded, his anger calming down after he swapped back to English. But unfortunately, as much as Bart wanted to take to heart his advice, legacy made him. It raised him and built who he was. Jamie continued.

"What I'm trying to say is that we'll never be good heroes if we live someone else's idea of what it means to be a hero. Does that make sense?"

"I guess so, but understanding and putting it into practice are completely different things." 

He got what Jamie was trying to say, they had to forge their own paths, but the life he was currently living was built on lies. How was he meant to define what being a hero meant to him, when he couldn't even differentiate himself from the identities he had created to protect himself? Jamie looked at him with an expression Bart hadn't seen before. Leaving the speedster to wonder how he managed to convey confusion and understanding in one look. 

◽️◽️◽️

Blue Beetle took to action, seeing his target and charging. The speedster guessed their last fight had influenced the sudden movement. It had been their first time fighting and Blue had underestimated his combat experience — although his new flash-like laid back attitude tended to draw out that reaction. Bart easily evaded the kick and the punches that followed as he began speaking nonchalantly, "This is crash and all, but just because Nightwing isn't here anymore, doesn't mean there isn't others that can help with close combat."

"I'm not the most obvious candidate," he finished as he finally returned the flurry of attacks. His kick only brushed Jamie's hip but it was enough to catch him off-balance to launch a counter move. Although against what would usually be his better judgment, he decided to toy with Blue then to take the opportunity. He had the expectation of flamboyance to uphold afterall. The voice in his head disagreed; not drawing attention was ingrained into him. It was difficult when his previous personality so blatantly contradicted with his new one. He had to be cold to survive in his future, but he had to be deliriously cheerful to be the hero everyone wanted him to be. 

"That's not the point," Jamie declared, regaining his composure. He glanced back at his fellow teenager and his invitational smirk before he began elaborating. His body language told lengths before he pounced. He lurched forward. Bart shuffled aside and Jamie swivelled in his direction. He was over exhausting himself, yet he still had an excited grin that perked the other's interest. 

"They don't have powers. They don't know what it's like to balance those two things," he said between throwing hits. He kept on pushing despite the sidestepping, repeating blow after blow until he had Bart pinned against a tree. Bart could see his intentions shinning through in his eyes; he wanted him to treat him like a serious threat. 

In a split second decision, the speedster let his former training take control, Jamie had to learn how dangerous asking for something like that was. His opponent punched, he ducked and crouched down to the ground. Picking up a handful of dirt, he throw it, temporarily blinding the other. Jamie stubbornly kept trying to attack despite his clumsiness, he repaid this by punching his jaw. He continued this battering until he fell to the ground. His chest gently rising and sinking with each shallow breath he drew in. 

A sudden gush of pain jolted throughout his combatant's body as he took a few steps back. His jaw ached, his arms lost tension and his legs began to weaken. He fell to the ground, defeated. As Blue started to get his vision back, he saw the speedster looming over him. His head tilted as he looked down at his friend in a cheeky yet apologetic manner. "And I do?"

"Okay, you weren't my first choice. However it was a lot more embarrassing to ask anyone else," clarified Jamie as Bart helped him up. Although from how painful it seemed to be for him to get up, he looked like he was starting to regret that decision. A painful lesson, but necessary. When it comes to the fight there's no honour, no code. All that matters is the win and we take nothing for granted —or at least that was the principal driven into him. 

"That's comforting."

Jamie looked at him with an appreciative smile, but it wasn't just the extra training despite the condition he was now in; he was enjoying the jaded sarcasm creeping into his friend's mannerisms. Not giving Bart a chance to interrupt, he proceeded with explaining himself, saying, "Gathered, I wasn't expecting you to be any good. You know if you weren't so flashy you would probably have a lot more responsibilities." 

"Crash," stammered Bart, "but that is the point." His flashiness was a protection, an emotional guard. And despite having the all clear —with the future saved— his over compensation became a cover for the baggage he carried. Which was ironic, considering as much as he needed his fake smile; he hated it. In his future the sight of an insincere grin always left a sour taste in your mouth. That feeling where it makes you uneasy, but you're too scared to call them out so you just keep letting them lie, because it's better than the truth.

"What are you two doing in here, this is a league restricted zone?" Cut in Black Canary from the viewing room, breaking Bart's train of thought. As if on cue, the environment around them dematerialised. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't think we were doing anything wrong," responded Jamie in remorse, unaware they were in a restricted zone. On the contrary Bart was strangely pleased with the trouble he had gotten them in. Eventually his companion would share his love for mischief; his exuberance for trouble was a powerful contagion. Perhaps, a quality picked up from his un-allen side of the family. 

"You have to have an admin's password to even access this training room. What do you call breaking league rules?" Explained Canary, directing her glare at the red head. Bart more felt than saw her shake her head as he shrugged his shoulders, he supposed correcting mischievous teens threw a wrench into her busy schedule. 

"A hobby," answered the speedster. His mind being the way it is, was most unhelpful. A slick smile spread, dimpling his cheeks in a way his mother had once said she found both cute and concerning at once. 

"That we do not engage in?" he continued with a mock unsureness, playing off the glare that grew harder. The look Jamie gave him knocked him back into seriousness. Coming into reason, he resolved that part of getting into trouble was getting out of it. Whining, he retorted, "None of the other training rooms give the environmental advantage!"

"What if the program proved too difficult for you two? There is a reason you don't have access, it's dangerous," she bounced back, her face relenting from anger to worry. 

"So are the people we're fighting and we were sparring against each other, the program was only used to set the scene."

"It was my idea, I wanted to be better prepared. I just don't want to lose control again like I did with the Reach. I need to be able to defend myself with or without the scarab," jumped in Jamie, a coiled spring of guilt. The comment wasn't surprising —he was centre in the fight. He blamed himself for the control the Reach had over him, he blamed himself for Wally's death. Everyone blamed themselves for Wally's death. Canary caved in, "I won't condemn extra training, but next time you need to get permission."

"And have supervision," She added with a stern voice, before exiting. Apparently, Blue Beetle's own self-punishment had been enough to let them off the hook.

"Is everything off limits to non-leaguers," sighed Bart to his peer as the lights were turned off, signalling the end of their training session. 

CENTRAL CITY

July 14, 00:00 CST

A shadow loomed over the speedster swallowing any light that dared to share knowledge of where he was. At first, he welcomed the nothingness, relishing the security that came with the dark, but an air of uneasiness strangled his momentary sense of peace. "Run!" screamed a voice in his head — his consciousness or perhaps it was his instinct, nonetheless his feet refused to move, rendering him paralysed. Instead of focusing on his new found immovability, he stared into the darkness as a shiver ran up his quivering arm, making him realise just how cold it was.

A light flickered on, swinging from a thin string as it dangled from one side to the other. Underneath the blinking bulb was a broken mirror. Suddenly, Bart's body was released from its frozen stance but he no longer had control over his movements. Almost mechanically he walked towards the cracked glass, unnervingly close. The reflection that was cast back sent goose bumps up his back.

He breathed. Whatever nightmare this was, it wasn't real. The person standing in front of him wasn't him —not who he was now. The permanent scowl, the tattered clothing and the lack of morals when it came to doing what was necessary; that had all died the moment he walked into the past. He shut his eyes, hoping the reflection would disappear, but it didn't. As he opened his eyes again the figure seemed to have been given the breath of life, his lips twisting into a frown. "Why do you refuse me?" It asked as it stepped out of its prison. 

"This is a dream. Your not real, not anymore," retorted Bart in desperate scepticism. The other's eyes probed him, boring holes in his sanity and dampening his resolve as it analysed him. It made him feel nauseated and he shifted uncomfortably, painfully out of place with his own vulnerability. The dream he was in had long overstayed its visit. "Barry is alive, Blue never went on mode and The Reach are gone. You don't exist. You're dead," he concluded as he took a step back, shaking his head. 

"Dead? Hardly. I'll always be here, and you will always need me," he taunted. His words were carefully spoken, without drama. Bart balked against them but there was a finality he couldn't shake. Nothing would change this thing's mind, but it didn't mean he wouldn't try. 

"I've changed." 

His doppelganger looked as if he was on the verge of laughing. The moment Bart caught the gleam in his eyes he knew what he was in for, he recognised the silent cruelty behind them. It was like a hunter at the first sign of blood, he wouldn't back off now. Only dig deeper. He continued, "Every time you do something horrible you say that. You're so sorry, but then you do it again." 

"Violence is a choice."

"No, it isn't, or at least it wasn't. There is no choice," his lips quivered, "Not when your only choices are kill or be killed, but there is now. We have the choice to choose to do good because of what I've done." He tried to will himself to remain strong but his voice came out weak and hoarse, as if he was pleading with himself to believe his own words.

"Freedom built on blood, I wonder what your grandfather would say about that?"

The reply made Bart feel as if he had been punched, like the air in his lungs had disappeared. The damage was unexpected and brutal as his fears were vehemently exposed. His emotions felt like deep, freshly opened wounds. And his guilt was like a fire in his gut that slowly grew and grew. It was suffocating. It wouldn't budge, no matter how much he struggled. 

Bart tried to look away, closing his eyes and retreating into himself as he sat on the ground. He didn't want to come to terms with this version of himself, of what he was capable of. He didn't need to rely on that part anymore, the part bred from a world with no heroes, but without it what would he be? A fraud? Just a deceiving hollow soul? It's still better —the lie is better. 

"I wonder, would the heroes be so accepting if they knew the truth?" finished his younger self, the speedster's efforts to block it out coming to little avail even with his hands over his ears. With the taunting intention to push its point further, the reflection crouched down to meet him although Bart refused to meet his face. 

"You can't hide from who you are," It whispered as close as it could get to his left ear. The sound of dripping caught the speedster's attention, his hands were wet and whatever it was, was traveling from his ears and sliding down his neck. He knew he would regret it but he opened eyes and looked at his hands. It was garishly red, with a discreet, metallic scent. The pungent colour repulsed him but he was unable to look away; his eyes more wild then a deer caught in a trap. It was blood. Not his blood but the blood of those who stood in the way of what was necessary for survival. Blood he would never be able to wash away. 

"No," choked out Bart dryly, the sickening sights he had seen abruptly jolting him awake. He let out an exasperated sign of relief as he found himself in his bed, but panic still held him hostage. Slowly and reluctantly his heavy breathing finally let him have control in spite of his heart threatening to escape from his chest. His muscles felt weak, strained like they had been battling with the mattress underneath him —gathered he had never really felt at ease sleeping on one. 

The nightmare unceasingly lingered to his mind, but at least the worst of it was over. He doubted whether he would get much more sleep. He hadn't had one peaceful night since The Reach's defeat. The conversation he had with himself echoed in his head, and well he would for the most part ignore it. He couldn't help but dread what his life would be like now. Not that he wasn't thankful for no longer being enslaved, but his other self did have a point. He didn't know how to function in a world where you weren't always under threat. It was possible that he would be able to adapt, right? He could learn to be more impulsive —to live and not just survive. Surely it was possible... wasn't it? 

After a few moments of thought and blankly staring at the ceiling, Bart settled on distracting himself by getting a glass of water. His empty, very much unpersonalised room wasn't very comforting. Afterall, not when all it did was remind you of a happy childhood that you never experienced. No longer needing anymore self-convincing, he wondered down the hallway to the dining room and kitchen.

"You should be sleeping," Commented Barry with a slur, effectively surprising the teenager. Bart looked over his shoulder from the fridge door, his grandfather usually wasn't one to stay up late although the half empty bottle of alcohol helped fill in the gaps. It must have been something strong because the harsh scent of the drink could be smelt from where the younger was standing but that was to be expected. It took a lot for a speedster to even get tipsy, let alone to be on the verge of being drunk. 

"I could say the same about you," Bart replied back as he poured himself a cup of water and shut the fridge. It had to be Kid Flash. That was the only explanation that made sense. The Flash didn't give an immediate reply, but as he tried to put together his thoughts he left the room in an awkward silence that made the young speedster feel increasingly odd. He looked different without his smile —a worn canvas that had been stretched too far. It was unsettling.

"Did you have a nightmare?" He finally came out and asked with surprising observability, his senses mustn't have been completely numbed then. Despite being under the influence, Barry seemed to maintain his nurturing personality as he tried to initiate a conversation. However, that was the last thing Bart wanted to do —especially since the conversation probably wouldn't be remembered the next morning. "No," he lied. 

"That wasn't very convincing," the older softly retorted. Bart couldn't quite explain it but there was something threateningly fatherly about the way he spoke. The teenager could understand that; the need to replace Wally but this was something he couldn't be a replacement for. His smile might have led him astray, but his mask was a cover that had to stay fixed. His grandfather would only be disappointed with the truth; with the scars he was hiding. And he didn't need that right now. 

"I'm fine, really. Totally crash, just a bit thirsty is all," replied Bart.

Barry signed. His legs didn't work exactly as he wanted them to, and it was obvious that he was struggling to keep his balance but eventually he wondered over to his grandson. He put his hand on Bart's shoulder and although it was meant to be a comforting gesture, it was more so to centre himself. The younger wiggled underneath the pressure as he tried to block out the smell. Alcohol might have been scarce in the future but those who did happen to get their hands on some weren't exactly people you wanted to be acquainted with. They had lost their hope. And well Bart didn't get as much of it in his tweens, breaking glass had been a recurring anthem of his early childhood. 

"You don't have to be okay all the time, Bart. I know you didn't know Wally as well as the rest of us but that doesn't mean you can't be upset," he said, speaking uncharacteristically slow. Bart didn't know how to reply. His mind fluttered with unhelpfulness as he watched the strange behaviour. He knew Wally's death had taken a lot out of the other but he didn't expect to ever see The Flash, the person he endeavoured to be like, so broken. His grandfather apparently misinterpreted his lack of response and took the opportunity to pull him into a hug. The embrace was abrupt and unwelcome. Instantly the younger tried to pull away but Barry disregarded his efforts, desperately hanging onto him —scared he was going to lose him too. 

"Are you okay?" Asked Bart eventually as he finally relented into the hold but the warmth felt wrong, like it was meant for another. It felt foreign. Suddenly, Barry decided to release him. "If you don't want to tell me what wrong, that's alright, but running away from your emotions won't solve the problem."

"I'm tired, like you said I should be asleep. I'm just going to go do that, maybe you should do the same," he responded with a practiced smile. Barry initially looked at him with confusion, though eventually his face sparked in understanding of what Bart was suggesting but the words bounced off him. Clumsily he went to move back to where his empty glass was, stumbling over his own feet every now and again. 

Bart waited before fleeing the scene, biting down on his lip and silently hoping he wouldn't pure himself another glass, fortunately he had grown used to disappointment. The older turned his back to the young speedster, signaling for him to go back to his room. Bart didn't protest —he was the one that suggested he head back to bed.


	2. Running

"Anyone can run away, it's super easy. Facing problems and working through them, that's what makes you strong."  
\- Anonymous 

ARKHAM ASYLUM 

July 14, 10:34 CST

"You keep pointing that metal bar at me and rambling on about how much you want to kill me. I'm starting to doubt your commitment," snarked Bart as he leaned against the wall in the hallway. In retaliation the prisoner squinted his eyes, making them small —as if he was afraid to let any light in. 

For someone who seemed to be so unstable, his appearance didn't shine any light on his insanity. Bart didn't know how he had achieved so, but he both looked like everyone and no-one. He had the same general mop of brunette hair every other person seemed to have, and a nondescript face that lacked even one freckle. He wasn't tall or short enough for him to think about his height; and he hadn't been fat or thin enough for him to note his weight or build. In fact, if Bart had passed him on the street he wouldn't have given him a second thought.

"Shut up and fight me, corpse!" said the prisoner with clenched fists as he walked forward. There was an irritation in his anger, a sort of impetuousness. Bart could see it in his eyes. The inmate was a bomb only seconds from going off. His fuse simmered and fizzled like a firework in a chilly autumn breeze. 

"There you go again with the unnecessary aggression," sighed the speedster as he slumped his shoulders. 

With no further ammunition needed, the inmate launched in a gratuitously unrestrained way. It was like his conscience was seared with a branding iron; that it had become so scarred that he couldn't feel anything anymore.

His appearance once again proved to be deceiving, the prisoner's onslaught heavier than Bart had anticipated. There was no remorse behind his actions; he was too far gone. Such was the commonalty in Gotham's infamous Arkham Asylum. That same anger that powered his punches would be his downfall. His hits were sloppy and easy to dodge. When the next strike came Bart swerved out of the way of his fist and came up with his own. For a brief instant, his opponent's eyes widened before he made contact with the prisoner's face.

"Well, that wasn't very crash," sulked Bart as his opponent fell to the ground. He was all bark, and no bite. 

Without further ado, he went to find Jamie. Their purpose at the prison was almost fulfilled. Most of the big bads had been subdued and it wouldn't be long before the local police and guards were in control of the situation. 

The halls were narrow. The prison of Gotham was nothing like the one in Central City. Nothing shined, and everywhere smelt of disinfectant with a slight scent of metallic creeping through. The walls had once been painted —he could tell as much from the cream flakes that remained and the top layer that had been worn back from years of use. Mostly shown though was the undercoat, and the concrete underneath. 

The air was stagnant like he had just entered some pit. And there was a strange atmosphere. It was almost like the prison had become aware of itself and the history that echoed within. An infectious chaos lurked in its quietness, he swore if he listened hard enough he could hear the Asylum's beg for blood. It kept him on edge. He understood why people would want to escape.

Bart caught sight of something. A black blur that quickly fled from his vision. Almost unnoticeable, but for whatever reason it felt as if whatever or whoever it was, wanted him to take note. On impulse, despite his instincts warning him, he followed. 

All it took was one glance. He could have been mistaken, he could have just been seeing things, but somewhere in his gut he knew. 

Bart gazed at the figure, his face scrunched into a questioning expression. His throat tightened, as it always did when he was nervous. The smirk. The tattered clothing with only remnants of the ill-famed colours. Yellow. Red. Black. It was like he was experiencing a hangover of an extinct reality. 

"Eobard," he murmured in disbelief. It wasn't a question, there was no mistaking the person in front of him. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to believe that he was in Bart's time or comprehend how he had achieved so. Eobard was gone. Zoom, or at least his timelines Zoom had disappeared with everything else in the future. He had made sure of that. 

Suddenly, an overly excited shriek and the distinct sound of Jamie's plasma canon in the distance caught Bart's attention. He swang his head around on instinct, unintentionally turning his back on Eobard; his sub conscious trusting his grandfather not to take the opportunity to attack. Realising the mistake he made, he turned back around only to find no more than a blank wall. 

Don't worry about it, he told himself. 

There was no benefit in dwelling on Eobard, not when he wasn't even sure if what he had seen was real. It was probably just ignored remorse materialising. It seemed unfair that no matter how much he strived to be the hero his conscience wanted him to be, it would keep taunting him with past regrets. He gave up. Figuring out his grandfather —if it had actually been him— was never a fun guessing game. He had to focus on now, and right now he had a friend to help. 

▫️▫️▫️

"That's so cute," overheard Bart as he came into Harley Quinn and Jamie's line of sight, but the blonde clown payed him no mind as she continued, "You think your scary, but mister, I've seen scary and you ain't got his smile!"

Jamie rolled his eyes, those gold darts; sharp yet still full of emotion despite his armour. They weren't heavy or blunt, just apparent. Serious. On the contrary, her grin was wild; almost as if it was an invitation. Each glance radiated mischief, Harley was playing with her new toy. 

She was either widely naive, or dangerously intelligent. 

Harley charged at him. He blocked her hammer, his armour turning his arm into a sword. He had stalled her strike, but watched as a wretched, stained grin split the clown's lips. His blade shivered under the brutality of her compelling strength. Quickly, his other arm turned into a blade as well, giving him added strength to push her away. Like practiced choreography, the two danced around each other with their weapons. It was quite the show, mused Bart. 

Jamie couldn't keep up. It was to be expected, Harley was experienced and living with the joker had made her quick and unpredictable. She threw a quick left hook, upsetting his balance, and followed with her hammer. He tried to dodge the swing but it struck his side and he tumbled to the ground. The scarab warned him before the next hit came and he just managed to get out of the way in time. Realising he was at a disadvantage, he flew away, deciding he would have a better chance at beating her from the sky. 

"How long are you going to just stand there?" Asked Jamie as he saw Bart lazing around. Bart bite the edge of a cheeky smile in an attempt to keep his creeping grin at bay. Usually Bart's exuberance for trouble would be kinda endearing, but Jamie was unimpressed. 

"Let's have some fun, sugar!" Shrieked an excited Harley, rushing into enemy lines as she acknowledged her new play mate. Bart's attention flicked over to Harley Quinn. Her voice came out as if she was a spoilt child. From what Bart could tell she had little control over her emotions; or at the very least acted as if she didn't. Something had cracked in her. Her emotions had become too much to cope with and what she couldn't express properly came out as a tantrum. Like a whistling kettle that needed to let out steam. 

Her onslaught was relentless, but with Jamie covering him and the tactical advantage they had with Scarab, they made quick work of her. Bart was able to keep her distracted, giving Jamie an opening as he effectively knocked her out cold with one of his shots. 

Bart smiled at Jamie, but before he could celebrate their victory he heard laughter behind them. Not quite happy though, more sniggering and triumphant. He turned to look at Harley just to double check she was unconscious; he wouldn't count her out as one to play dead. 

It wasn't Harley.

An overwhelming feeling came first before he could register who it was. He felt sick, his heart beating faster than it should. The laughing had ceased, but the face of a women he would never forget remained. She was the first person he had seen suffer at the mercy of men just following orders —as the excuse often went. Those orders just happened to be from his father, but she wasn't a simple casualty to the speedster. She was his first reason. A spark that set off a chain of events that set him down a dark path he could never redeem himself from. 

His mother used to tell him that he had what it took, to make a difference. She had hope. Bart didn't want it, but she passed it down. Only now, he recognised that, that hope was cleverly disguised guilt. She sought to fix her mistakes, that was what she had left for him. He had inherited the quality of redemption, or at least the pursuit of it. 

His thoughts rose to defend his past actions —you can't save everyone— but he knew he had done something awful when he had to work so hard to justify it. 

"Kid Flash," said Jamie as he waved a hand in front of his disorientated face. Bart blinked a couple of times as the shock of reality settled back in. Jamie's face showed a type of gentle concern Bart had only seen as a bystander. For his own reassurance, he looked back down to make sure that it was Harley who was unconscious. As if on cue, Jamie asked, "What are you looking at?" 

Bart answered on instinct, "Nothing. Just—

"Blue Beetle, Impul- Ahh... I mean Kid Flash, Aqualad is ordering our retreat back to the Watchtower. The local authorities can handle the rest," radioed Robin, their team leader. Neither acknowledged the difficulty everyone had with Bart's change of name. Bart secretly wished he didn't have that extra weight on his shoulders, but he couldn't bring himself to tell Artemis he didn't want the name when she believed that's what Wally would have wanted. 

◻️◻️◻️

"That could have gone better," smiled Jamie, initiating conversation, as the two of them were walking out of the prison. Bart was happy to banter with him. It was a welcome distraction from whatever other delusions his mind had in store for him for the day. "What, better? We didn't get one person killed today." 

"You say that like it's difficult," pouted Jamie in faux disappointment. 

"Hey, I'm not the one that's disappointed," retorted the speedster in an appealingly irreverent way. Jamie smiled again with an expression that made him feel like they were having an intervention. It almost felt as if he was a child that had received a present from his parents, only to be followed by bad news. 

"Bart, do you think-

"All the time. I'm a good thinker, you know," Countered Bart before Jamie could finish checking in on him. Jamie looked conflicted, he must have recognised that Bart didn't want to get serious, but his concern —and probably the scarab— must have encouraged him to continue. Why did he have to have such a good friend? 

"That's not what I meant. Do you think-

"Yep," he intervened again. Maybe in a different situation Bart would have appreciated the stubbornness of his friend. It was nice to think he had someone who cared enough to call him out on his —keeping his emotions bottled up— behaviour. But he wasn't ready to readjust anything else in his life yet. And surely, a sixteen year old superhero kid had enough problems of his own to focus on. 

"Will you quit that, I'm trying to ask you something," tried Jamie again. 

"Ask away," answered Bart in the same light-hearted tone. He was being annoying or at least trying to be; he buzzed around Jamie like a fly that you can never swat. Jamie was determined not be distracted and took the opportunity well he still had it. 

"Thank you."

"Your welcome." 

There was a pause. Bart waited patiently. Well, not too patiently, choosing to occupy himself instead with the darkly comedic prisoners they passed —back in bars, of course— as Jamie took his time figuring out what he had intended to say. Apparently, Blue's plan had backfired on him. 

"Dammit, now I forgot what I was going to say," he stated, admitting defeat. Unfortunately, Bart's win was momentary as they were now stuck in an odd silence. Bart bit his lip, knowing what he had to do to curb his friends concern. It was a weird feeling, being cared for, but even more so the feeling of obligation the speedster had to care for someone else. It was scary. The only other time he had that feeling, he had it torn away from him.

"I meant it," he started, pausing as he got his words together, "When I said I was fine, I meant it. It's nothing to be moded about, I just thought I saw someone from my future which I obviously couldn't of, so it's nothing."

"You know, it's okay, if your not fine. A lot of heroes are taking a break, even if they had to force Tigress to take one," Jamie replied, reassuring Bart that no one would blame him for taking some time off. Maybe he should, but the last thing he wanted was time to dwell on his thoughts. What he needed was to keep himself busy. It would be wrong to use someone's death as an excuse to get his life together. 

"I know."

WATCHTOWER  
July 14, 11:34 CST

"M'gann, Beastboy and Superboy, when did you guys get back?" Asked Jamie as the heroes exited the zeta tubes. It wasn't too long ago that they had left to assist B'arzz O'oomm. Most of the team had been on assignment, excluding Nightwing, who was focusing on personal business. Which meant that those who were left: Robin, Kid Flash, Blue Beetle and Lagoon Boy had been bearing the brunt of responsibility —dealing with any unexpected day-to-day emergencies— under the supervision of Aqualad and occasionally Black Canary. Or as La'gaan put it, the others were doing the important stuff, well we were stuck with the leftovers nobody wanted. 

"Just now actually," replied Superboy with what Bart thought was a smile. Although he wasn't sure if smile was the right word for it, it was a faint curve of the lips. His relationship with M'gann had obviously improved from the body language he saw; with how close and comfortable they seemed to be around each other. Maybe he felt it was wrong to celebrate their re-established relationship so shortly after their close friends death. 

"And it's been so quiet here," said Robin as he addressed the returning heroes, Beast Boy in particular. Garfield had no trouble deciphering that the remark was directed at him and beamed with a goofy grin. He seemed to have bounce back from the death better than the others. He was a good actor, but Bart suspected it was learnt from personal experience. "When have prison breaks been quiet."

"Say it, don't spray it," remarked Superboy who was next to the overly exited hero. M'gann who was hanging onto Conner, gave a little giggle. The light laughter was an auditory hug, vibrant and heartwarming. It was a sound Bart didn't realise he had been missing. It was hard to explain, as if there was an invisible feather at the back of his neck brushing softly. A pleasant, genuine sound of happiness. 

Unfortunately, the banter was short lived as Aqualad and Canary entered the room. The majority of people turned to look at Aqualad, but Canary's eyes were focused solely on Bart. And although it was only momentary, he wasn't sure what he had done to warrant them. It made him feel uneasy —like she knew something that he didn't want her to.

Please, don't tell me Flash told her about the nightmares. 

Bart could picture it now. He would be called into her office after the meeting. Most of the time she would glance at her paperwork, scribbling this or that, then occasionally glance up at him with a question or comment. Her eyes would somehow be sagging more than they are now as she gives a practiced smile. Not from her own fault, her worry wouldn't be any less sincere, but she would —is— already overloaded from the psych reports the league is asking for. And Bart would wonder if all the deliberate looking away was supposed to put him at ease, make him feel less threatened, or if it was simply out of necessity so she didn't fall asleep listening to him. 

He didn't need it and either did she. Why did the flash have to push him off onto her?

"Great, everyones here," said Aqualad, raising his voice in an effort to gather attention, in particular, Bart's. His expression didn't say much, but it was apparent that he was glad to have his older team members back. From what Bart had heard it seemed like Aqualad had a lot on his plate, comforting Artemis and Night Wing who for obvious reasons hadn't been in the best mindset. 

"Night Wing forwarded us a video. While we were busy with the prison break, a device was stolen from Gotham S.T.A.R. Labs," he started with. Bart heard Aqualad saying something else, probably some other information or statistics, but he sounded distant and muffled. The speedster's stomach flipped. 

Thoughts accelerated inside his head. Bart wanted them to slow down, but it was like prying fungus from a wall. He couldn't think, or focus on anything else but the connection he was making. 

Bart couldn't fathom why, but something about the report —about the prison break— felt off. He couldn't pin point what it was, maybe it was a hunch of sorts, but he was sure that the figure he had seen was real. That the zoom from his timeline was here. And he was sure that whatever awaited them would not be good. 

CENTRAL CITY   
July 16, 21:43 CST

The alleyway was as straight as a drinking straw and almost as narrow. The buildings were tight together and loomed over Bart. Every time he walked through it, it seemed as if the houses had been pushed further together. And he often wondered if one day he would find only the most narrow of pathways left. 

It wasn't the most pleasant walking route, but it was the fastest way to Barry's house. And even if he wasn't in a hurry to return, he quite liked the route. There was a familiarity yet strangeness in the atmosphere that made Bart feel comfortable. The sounds of cars either side ricochetted from one side to the other and light from the apartment windows above would reflect from the dark brick walls. The only splash of color came from the bright graffiti. 

The ally was loud at this time. He heard the familiar sound of arguing, the banging of a door and the sound of voices from a tv. It was the perfect place to be mugged or murdered. Nobody would see or hear a thing. 

He paused. The darkness felt normal —the world etched in charcoal— even if there was light peaking through. Bart couldn't help, but feel at ease. There was relief in it he knew others wouldn't understand. This space was his guilty pleasure. Here, he didn't have to try to be good all the time. There wasn't any expectation or rules. He could just be him, without an act. It was odd that well there were many memories of his time he dreaded, he yearned for certain things; certain feelings. He missed how people appreciated what they had, however little that was. Sometimes it became hard to convince himself that saving these people from his timelines fate was worth it. 

An old lady that owned a bakery a little further up once told him that there was a rumour of being able to hear wondering lost souls crying out in pain from the alleyway. He had never heard any voices, but apparently, it was also the last place a missing girl was seen. 

Maybe, he should have listened to her warnings. 

The resident alley cat walked into his line of view, trotting across the pavement as if it was springy. Dirt and gunk stained her fur, knitted and twisted from years of neglect. Her eyes were a piercing amber. She usually purred at the sight of Bart, a familiar visitor of hers. Instead, this time, she puffed out her chest and started hissing. The speedster heard footsteps approaching him from behind. The cat must have sensed something ominous, because she was gone almost as quickly as she came. Abandoning her home.

"You've been pretty busy," said a voice. Bart didn't need to turn around to know who it was. He knew this was coming. He had been trying to run from it, but like always the past was destined to catch up with him. He would never be free if he kept running from it.


End file.
